Page 1 of One Savage Union

PROLOGUE

ROCCO

For twenty years, I’ve waded through rivers of blood, left traitors smoldering in ash, and carved my name into the bones of enemies—to earn the power that comes with being Consigliere of the Romano Crime Family.

Betrayal stopped surprising me a long time ago—it’s the currency we trade in.

But nothing—and I mean nothing—compares to the level of fucked up I’ve uncovered in the last forty-eight hours.

Two days ago, my uncle, Don Thomasso Romano, sent me to New York on a fact-finding mission. A whisper reached his ear: there was a rat among us. One of our gun shipments vanished from our docks in Chicago and ended up on the streets of New York with the Colombians.

Theft happens, but this one? It stank of betrayal.

Clean timing. Inside knowledge. No sign of struggle. It had our fingerprints all over it—just not the right hands.

And the Colombian Cartel isn’t that stupid or that smart.

My orders were simple. Find the rat. Kill the rat. Make a spectacle of it so the rest of the family remembers what disloyalty costs.

I had to move carefully—New York isn’t our turf, but stealth fits me like a second skin.

After kidnapping and torturing a few unfortunate souls, I managed to identify from the security cameras at our docks, but I didn’t find a rat.

I found a fucking snake.

Leo Romano.

The Don’s son. My cousin. Blood of my blood.

He planned the heist. Funded it and pulled it off with a crew of mercenaries he’d been stockpiling like weapons, right under our noses for the past three months. And he didn’t just steal from the family. He’s desecrated the sacred oath of “la familia” and made a mockery of the blood that built our empire.

Once the informants used their last ragged breath to whisper his name, rage ignited inside me—pure, primal, and blinding. I wanted to find Leo and gut him like the scavenging bottom-feeder he is. No questions. No ceremony. Just justice—swift, sharp, and final.

But I’m not the Don.

And Leo’s not my son.

So, today, I do what a Consigliere does—I bring the truth to the throne.

Adjusting the lapels of my black Tom Ford suit, I inhale once, steady and cold, before knocking on the polished mahogany door.

“Come in,” Thomasso’s voice calls, deep and even from his office.

I step inside—and find the bane of my fucking existence.

Leo

He’s lounging against the wall beside his father’s desk like he owns the place. He looks like rot wrapped in designer wool, oozing arrogance from every pore. His sneer is sharp enough to cut glass—and twice as toxic.

“Well, look who graced us with his presence,” Leo slithers, voice slick with venom. “The crown prince of nothing. Tell me, cousin… how does it feel wearing a crown that doesn’t belong to you?”

The poison in his voice isn’t new, but today it seeps deeper—because now I know what fuels it. It’s not jealousy. It’s entitlement—warped into arrogance and flung like a blade by a traitor who truly believes he should be Don.

The delusion would be pathetic if it weren’t so fucking dangerous.

I step to him—slow and deliberate—until we’re nearly chest to chest, close enough that he can feel my calm like a blade at his throat.

“Feels lighter than betrayal,” I say, voice like ice. “Funny how easy it is to wear what you earned.”

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